Chapter Forty-Four

Draco stopped in the doorway and looked out into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for Blaise. He could sense Phil standing next to him but didn't turn, he had other priorities right then. Across the floor people had stopped dancing, the orchestra still played in their corner but the Hogwarts students were mostly gathered in small groups scattered around the room. The buzz of intense conversations hovered over the crowd, but there wasn't—at least at present—any flashes of light from errant spells. Draco quickly spotted Potter, Weasley, and the Weaselette—perhaps he ought to stop calling her that, even in his head—grouped together, with Weasley's new girlfriend clutching his arm anxiously. Next to them stood Miguel and Sylvia, their faces serious. He couldn't see Hermione but figured she was in the middle of the group, protectively surrounded by her friends. He wanted to run to her and take her in his arms so badly it was almost a physical pain.

Draco heard Phil clear his throat. "Er, I hope Melville isn't too annoyed that I left her in the middle of our dance," he muttered under his breath, sounding a bit more like himself for the first time since he'd forced Draco from the room.

Draco glanced at him, then shook his head slightly with the ghost of amusement. "I'm sure Munoz kept her company," he murmured back, smirking at Phil's low mutter of "That's what I was afraid of," in return to his words. But then Draco spotted the black hooked beak of Blaise's mask above a small group of students near the exit to the main hall. He was moving across the room before he was even aware of consciously planning to do so.

"Now Draco," he heard Phil call warningly behind him, "remember your plan to take the high road?"

Draco did, but his resolve had dissolved the moment he discovered Blaise hadn't left yet. Surely Blaise's prudent desire to save his own skin should have kicked in by now, he thought darkly. Why was he still here? Did he think that his mates from his old House would stand by him if wands were drawn? On the one hand, perhaps they didn't know what Blaise had done? And on the other hand, it was likely that some of them did know, and simply didn't care.

"That was your plan," he replied steadily, eyes locked onto Blaise's dark ones, and narrowing in determination as Blaise realized he'd returned and was closing in. "And the fact that Zabini didn't take his chance to get out while I was gone is his own fault."

"What about Granger?" Phil added, causing Draco to falter in his single-minded march through the crowd. "Shouldn't we go see how she is?"

Draco stopped then, and turned to face his friend, feeling incredulous. Yes, of course he wanted to run to Hermione, to take her away from everything that might hurt her, but she had her friends with her for the time being, so Draco could could go satisfy his own more primal urges. "If you'll recall, I was trying to do that before you pulled me out of the room—" he began, throat tight with frustration. Well, he had also planned to maybe punch Blaise once or twice first. Phil looked slightly pained at Draco's words, but still met his eyes steadily, firm in his resolve that his move had been the right one in the moment. Draco pulled in a steadying breath and swallowed back the rest of his retort; Phil wasn't the enemy here. "Look, she'll never be ok as long as Zabini is loose. I'm willing to play the long game in getting revenge on him, but I'm also not willing to let the insult of him swaggering into my house—my house, Phil—as if we're still mates, slide. As if what he did to the girl I—the girl I care about," he stumbled over the words but pressed on, "was so inconsequential that he felt safe enough to party crash."

Phil closed his mouth over further protests and nodded. "I see your point, I suppose," he admitted, still looking vaguely uneasy. Then he straightened. "I'll be your Second," he added, "should it come to that."

Draco gave his friend an appraising look, then nodded curtly before turning back toward Blaise. He wasn't alone, Pansy stood nearby, along with Wittlesbrite, Cartwright, Anderson, Blakely, and a handful of girls. Blaise straightened to his full height as Draco came to a stop in front of him. His face looked faintly red on one side.

"Draco," he sneered, dark eyes glittering behind his mask. "I thought you'd ditched your party for more entertaining endeavours." Pansy smirked at Blaise's joke, though her expression quickly soured.

"For all your denials, Draco," she said coolly, "you sure got into a tizzy over Granger just now. Though I can understand your not wanting to snog a mudblood," she continued, eyes calculating, "you certainly seemed to give it your all." Anderson smirked and Cartwright shot Draco a knowing look that suggested Draco was a cat batting about a mouse.

Blaise smirked. "Mudbloods are only good one for thing, if that—" he started, but cut off abruptly as Draco, who had been standing silently in the middle of the group for the past thirty seconds, pulled back his fist and swung it with all his might into Blaise's stomach. "Ooof!"

Pansy shrieked as Blaise doubled over, nearly impaling himself with own beak. "Draco!"

Draco took a step closer to Blaise, ignoring Pansy. "You had ample opportunity to get off my property, Zabini," he growled lowly, grabbing a fistful of Blaise's robes and yanking him back to a standing position. Blaise's attempt to stifle a groan of pain only added kindling to the heat of his anger. "Why are you still here?"

Blaise grunted, trying to pull himself free of Draco's hold—Draco gripped tighter. "Your parties are always a good time, Draco," he wheezed, trying to hold on to his usual arrogant grin around a wince of pain. "I wouldn't miss one. Especially with your expanded guest list this year," he added. "I suppose allowing the lower classes in once in a while is good for a laugh."

Draco hit him again, this time in the jaw, and Blaise crashed to the floor, sprawling on his back. He started to get up, but Draco whipped out his wand in a move too quick to see, pointing it straight at Blaise's chest. Blaise finally hesitated, his survival instincts waking up at last. Draco wanted to laugh harshly at the quick glance Blaise gave to his wrists. Apparently Blaise had finally remembered that he was unable to use magic to defend himself.

"You are the lowest of the most vile creatures to crawl up out of the mud, Zabini," he snarled, his heart pounding so viciously in his chest that he thought he might be in danger of a heart attack if he didn't get himself under control soon. "I should avada kadavra you right now and be done with it!" His wand gave a shiver in his hand at the words and Draco flinched, having forgotten he was holding it in his anger. If he'd lost his concentration, even for a second, he might have accidentally cast the killing curse. As much as Blaise may have deserved it, Draco wanted his day in court first. And then maybe twenty or thirty years of having the Dementors of Azkaban sucking out every measly drop of happiness Blaise claimed to have. Then, perhaps, Draco would grant Blaise the mercy of a quick death.

A small hand with glittery green nails touched his arm and Draco whirled to glare at Pansy. She pulled her hand back, but didn't move away from the force of his wrath. "Calm down, Draco," she snapped, though her voice shook just slightly at the pure rage on his face. Good, she ought to be afraid of him, Draco thought darkly. Pansy rallied herself. "Merlin, it was just a joke," she continued, glancing about the gathering crowd, "you need to get yourself together. No one forced you to snog Granger. Quit overreacting."

Draco stared down at Pansy incredulously, about to shout at her that it wasn't Blaise's nudging them into the mistletoe that had him so aggravated, that if they had still been friends he would have had a good laugh over the whole thing once it was over. But they were so far past that possibility now, and somehow Pansy still couldn't see how much Draco had changed in the past year. Staring down into his ex-girlfriend's annoyed expression Draco wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, to ask her if she knew how twisted Blaise really was, to tell her that Blaise had assaulted Granger, and if he cared so little for one girl what made Pansy think he'd treat her better, just because she was a pureblood?

He opened his mouth and then stopped. He was trapped in a devil's bargain just then: he could see Cartwright and Anderson eyeing him from beyond Pansy's offended face, reminding Draco abruptly of the fact that he was supposed to be playing 'good little pureblood' for their secret club, which meant he wasn't supposed to be reacting to something so small as a little muggleborn teasing—which was likely all they knew about with regards to Blaise and Granger. On the other hand, it was Hermione, and by this point in the school year everyone, even Cartwright and Anderson and their lot, had to know that Draco was at least friends with Granger, if nothing precisely more—yet. He hated that he was once again forced into playing both sides. Why was life so unfair?

"Merlin, Malfoy, old boy," simpered Blakely, puffing out his thin chest and apparently trying to appear as pompous as he could—though with his frame leaning more toward weedy than the stuffy, portly old British aristocrat he was trying to embody, Draco could barely muster more than a disgusted look in his direction. Blakey didn't seem to notice. "Do you really want to spill pure-blood over something as trivial as this?"

Yes, yes he did.

However, Draco knew he had to do some sort of damage control if he wanted to keep his in with the P.E.R. society. With a muted snarl, Draco reigned in his anger. There would be a time and a place for a showdown with Blaise Zabini, and he would be ready for it when it came. He wouldn't curse Blaise here, crumpled in a pathetic heap on the manor's marble floor. Well, he wouldn't let his presence force Draco into using an Unforgivable at least. With a lightning fast flick of his wrist, Draco sent a spell toward Blaise—causing him to yelp in pain, and glare viciously up at Draco as he clenched his fists, unable to fight back—then he lifted his wand and stowed it back in its sheath with a practiced twist of his wrist, before Pansy or Anderson could start forward. With a contemptuous look at Blaise, he turned away from him. Just because he'd managed not to kill Blaise, however, didn't mean he was above throwing him out of the manor.

"Pansy," Draco said coolly, ignoring Blakely for the moment as he turned to face her, struggling to keep his voice calm, "we're not dating any more, so I don't have to listen to your ridiculous prattle." Pansy took a step back looking supremely affronted, but Draco wasn't done speaking. "However, in light of our friendship, I'll give you some free advice: Zabini isn't worth your time."

He turned back to Blaise who had pushed to his feet while Draco was distracted. He glared at Draco at these words, and Draco raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't reach for his wand. Blaise knew he could draw it before he'd be able to get out of range, and Draco enjoyed the unease he tried to hide behind his dark look. He then turned to meet the eyes of Blakely, Anderson, Cartwright, Wittlesbrite and all the rest that had clustered around during his showdown with Blaise. He settled on Anderson in the end though, since he seemed to be the one in charge and Draco needed to make some sort of peace with him in order not to appear a traitor to the cause. Before he actually was a traitor to the cause, of course.

"Regardless of what you may think of me, or my family in particular, the Malfoys still stand for something in the right circles. We won't allow ourselves to be besmirched by those who refuse to evolve with the times." He gave Anderson a hard look, refusing to look away from the other boy's cold, considering gaze first. "Those of us who wish to hold on to our place in society," he put a certain extra weight on "our place", as he knew the words would strike the right cord with Anderson, "would do well not to associate with those who might drag us down, don't you agree?"

Anderson didn't react for a long moment, but finally his thin lips tipped up in a facsimile of the cold smirk on Draco's own face. "I do agree," he said with slight nod toward Draco. Draco wasn't sure that he and Anderson were agreeing on precisely the same concepts, but for now he'd just be grateful that Anderson wasn't kicking him out of the club.

"And considering Zabini has forgotten how properly bred purebloods act in civilized society, I am removing him from my house." He cast a disgusted look over his shoulder at Blaise. "Especially considering he was never on the guest list in the first place."

"And your defending that Gryffindor…?" Anderson let the sentence trail off but Draco didn't allow him to bait him.

With a roll of his eyes and and huff of air that showcased just how obtuse he thought Anderson was being, Draco met his eyes again. "Granger and I are—" he broke off for a moment, actually unsure how to finish the definition of their relationship, though it wasn't for a lack of Draco trying to solidify things. Anderson narrowed his eyes and Draco hurried to press on. "We're friends," he said firmly. "Don't be an idiot, Anderson," he continued as calmly as possible, despite the narrow look Anderson was now giving him, "the Golden Trio hold a respectable place in society, like it or not, and Granger—for all her know-it-all-ness—is smart. And not terrible to spend time with while working on a certain project of mine." The road to a good lie is to mix in as much of the truth as possible, Draco knew, and hoped he had given Anderson and the rest enough to go on.

"I'll bet," came Blakely's unctuous rejoinder to the conversation. He waggled his eyebrows at Draco and Pansy gasped.

"Draco wouldn't dare stoop so—!"

Draco ignored her, turning a cold look on Blakely. "Don't be a disgusting prat," he said simply, smirking at the way Blakely gaped at him. Just because Draco might not be the official prince of Slytherin house any more didn't mean he'd lost all his sway with his peers. "Some of us do have the ability to get our school work done without giving in to our hormones."

"Just like tonight, I'm sure," came a sneering voice from behind him. Draco spun to face Blaise, who was standing well back from him, attempting to project a confident air that was marred slightly by the flinch he was unable to suppress from Draco's sudden attention on him. "We all saw you with Granger under the mistletoe," Blaise continued. "Putting the moves on someone like that—"

Draco felt his heart-rate ratcheting up again with all the things he wanted to say to Blaise about putting any sort of 'moves' on 'exactly that person', and knew he had to end this confrontation quickly, before Blaise could stir the pot Draco was working so hard to steady. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand still. He gave Blaise a cold smile, devoid of any sort of warmth or flicker of past friendship. "Because it's Christmas and I'm feeling magnanimous," he said tightly, cutting Blaise off, "I'll have one of our house elves see you out." He paused, lifting a free hand to snap his fingers. A moment later there was a loud crack and a small elf in a Malfoy toga appeared next to Draco, glancing up at him with bulbous eyes.

"Master Malfoy?" it inquired, eyes flashing uneasily about the group of wizards.

"See Zabini to the Gates," Draco commanded, nodding toward Blaise, who took a step back.

"Back off, Malfoy," he snarled, his confident demeanour cracking at last. He looked uneasy for the first time since entering the ballroom. "If your elf magics me off the property my mother will—" He broke off, glancing at his mother who was talking with Narcissa across the room, then down at the long sleeves of his dark dress robes. Draco immediately understood, though he didn't back down. Once Phil had explained the way the Suppressor worked, in tandem with the Tether Charm, it was easy enough to deduce that if Blaise strayed too far from his mother the magic connecting them would react dangerously. It was the nature of the Charm.

Draco smiled coldly. He knew Blaise had figured out that Draco had either seen or guessed about his lack of magic, and he also knew that he would do much to make sure that no one else knew about it. He'd taken a risk in crashing Draco's party and now he had to either capitulate or face a magical blow-back. "I'd suggest she take her leave then," he replied, holding Blaise's glare with one of his own. "Quickly." He turned to the house elf and nodded.

The elf reached out one knobbly-fingered hand to take hold of Blaise's leg and Blaise tried to pull away, lifting his head and frantically searching out his mother's face. Sending Draco a black look, he sacrificed his pride and shouted across the ballroom. "Mother, time to go!"

Mrs. Zabini turned toward the sound of her son's voice, looking confused, but a moment later there was a second loud crack as the elf finally latched onto Blaise's leg and clung there, lifting its own hand and snapping its fingers. In a swirl of magic both it and Blaise disappeared. For a moment nothing else happened, then Mrs. Zabini lurched forward as if someone had hooked her with an invisible cane. She stumbled toward the doors, dropping her champagne flute and startling Narcissa as it smashed against the marble floor.

For a split second she seemed to seek Draco out in the crowd, meeting his eyes as she glared at him, then she grabbed one of the house elves holding a serving platter and yanked it up by the front of its toga, sending the tray crashing to the ground, scattering canapés everywhere. "Take me to my son," she gasped, clutching her stomach and trying not to trip over a potted plant as an unseen magic forced her stumbling across the ballroom. "Now!" The elf squeaked in alarm but reached out and wrapped its tiny arms around the one Mrs. Zabini was using to hold onto its toga. Lifting one small hand, it snapped its fingers, and with a final loud crack they vanished.

There was dead silence in the ballroom now. Draco rolled his eyes, sure, now the orchestra decided to stop its merry jaunt through its repertoire of holiday songs.

"Draco!" came his mother's outraged voice across the room. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

There was a scattering of snickers from around the room as certain people took pleasure in his getting called out by his mother. Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, then strode across the floor toward her. "Those two are not welcome in this house, mother," he informed her coldly.

Narcissa stared at him, looking affronted that her son was telling her what to do as if he were the adult and she the child. "Don't be impertinent, Draco," she replied frostily. "I allowed you to invite whomever you liked to the ball this year, you have no right to send away the one guest I invite as if you are Lord of this Manor."

Draco felt a sad, cold smile stretch his face as he looked down at his mother. "Ah, but I am, aren't I, mother?" he inquired. "We both know Lucius is no longer in control of this house."

Narcissa's lips tightened but she didn't debate that fact. Draco lifted a hand toward the orchestra and signalled them to start up again, the low strains of a classic carol filled the room. "Draco," she began, voice lowered now, as she, too, remembered that they had an audience. "Please try not to start anything. We're trying to rebuild our reputations."

Draco's smile slipped and he met his mother's eyes. "The Zabini's are not the way to do that," he told her intently, holding Narcissa's eyes until she seemed to realize he was serious. She said nothing, but must have seen something in his eyes, as she didn't argue. Draco relented a fraction. "I'm sorry I spoiled your evening," he told her in a low voice. Narcissa's expression relaxed the faintest bit at his words.

"You didn't, really," she said in a carefully controlled voice, though her lips tipped up a tiny bit at one side. She lifted one slender hand to pat his cheek. "That woman is a terrible bore. I only allowed her in because she had hinted she had access to a rare potion ingredient I needed for a skin replenishing elixir, and that she would be open to gifting me some of it as a holiday present."

Draco relaxed himself. Narcissa tried to be a decent person, it was just that she was so easily swayed by the demands and expectations of Society. He offered a more genuine smile as a Christmas truce. "You are always lovely, mother," he told her quietly. "Don't let that old hag try and convince you that you need anything other than the perfect Malfoy genes to maintain it."

Narcissa's face gentled, and for a moment Draco glimpsed the mother she'd been in his childhood, away from the influence of Lucius and the Dark Lord. "Go back to your friends, Draco," she said softly. "Have a good night. Just try not to destroy too many alliances while you're at it, alright?"

Draco nodded, holding his neutral expression until his mother had made her way out of the ballroom. That had been a close call. Not that he was out of the woods yet, he still had to face Pansy and the rest of the P.E.R. society who were waiting behind him. He'd done some fast talking but he wasn't sure it had been enough. With a sigh, he turned back.

"Malfoy!" a voice called from his left, and Draco turned toward it. Potter stood apart from his knot of friends, his expression serious. Draco swallowed back a second sigh. All he'd wanted was one night of good—if not clean, at least interesting—fun. Why was it playing out like another day back at Hogwarts?

"Yes, Potter?" he asked tightly, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Potter didn't seem to be paying much attention to his response though. "Did you see Hermione in the hall when you were out there?"

Draco stopped walking and frowned. "I thought she was in here with you lot," he said slowly, confused. He glanced back at the door Phil had pushed him through ten minutes earlier, then looked back at Potter; if Hermione had come through it, there was no way he or Phil would have missed her. "Where is she?" He felt his heart start to pound again, and looked quickly back around the ballroom. It looked like everyone was still there, no one appeared to have snuck off to cause trouble… except for Hermione. And she was more likely to find it than be its source.

Potter stepped closer, Ginny appearing next to him. "Do you think she apparated back to school?" she asked. "Or caught the early train out of Hogsmeade?

Potter glanced at his girlfriend. "I don't think so. There are set times for apparition points in a few hours, and it would take her just as long, if not longer, to make the journey to Hogsmeade on foot." He met Draco's eyes, finally seeming to notice the tense confusion in them. "She kind of ran out of the room after Phil pulled you out into the hall," he elaborated. "She was out on the terrace for a bit, but it seemed like she wanted to be left alone so we didn't pursue it. She, uh, seemed like she needed to get away from the gossip mill for a few minutes, you know, after the scene Zabini caused…" he trailed off, his eyes flicking up as if looking at a clump of mistletoe above their heads.

Draco felt the back of his neck heat from the intensity of the look Potter was now giving him. He didn't look precisely angry with Draco, but his tone of voice was still cool. Merlin, Draco knew he should have just grabbed Hermione's hand and taken off. But no, he'd let his emotions—not to mention hormones, whatever he'd just said to Blakely—get the better of his good judgement, and now Hermione had run off somewhere in the manor. He hoped she hadn't accidentally set off one of the protective enchantments that had been set over certain rooms; if she had she might be stuck in some dark corner, injured and alone, and unlikely to be discovered by anyone but Draco or his mother.

Draco cast another look around the room, his mind whirling with possibilities about where Hermione might have holed up. The manor was massive, not as big as Hogwarts to be sure, but definitely large enough for someone as small and resourceful as Hermione Granger to hide herself away if she didn't want to be found. But Draco knew his house intimately, from the kitchens to the gardens. He knew he could find her.

He cleared his throat, not wanting to start anything but also unable not to say anything with Potter and Ginny staring at him like that. "Ahem, about that—"

Ginny's face relaxed into something that could almost be called mischievous. Her brown eyes sparkled behind her cat mask. "Honestly, Malfoy," she chided him, her voice…teasing? Draco swallowed, feeling wrong-footed at this change in conversational tone. "You should know by now that Hermione isn't one for a public display."

"Er, what?" He blinked, confused. Wasn't this the point where he escaped the boiling cauldron only to fall into the flames beneath? He was supposed to have thrown Blaise out and have to deal with his fellow Slytherins, not suddenly be in the middle of a relationship talk with Hermione's best friend.

"Look, Malfoy," Potter said, clapping a hand on Draco's shoulder and startling him. "We saw what you did to Zabini. We couldn't hear everything you said, but slugging him says plenty. Clearly you care about Hermione's well-being."

"Uh, right," Draco heard himself say, as if from far away. So perhaps he'd burned the bridges he'd been tentatively building with Anderson's lackeys only to have a rope thrown his way from the Gryffindor camp? His head was spinning.

"However," came a new voice, and Draco glanced around to see Ginny's brother, the unerringly annoying Ronald Weasley, appear behind Potter. "Just because you threw Zabini out doesn't get you off the hook for humiliating Hermione!"

"Ron!" Ginny tried to shush her brother, turning to smack his arm. "That was Zabini's doing!"

"Malfoy backed her into a corner and snogged her in front of everyone, Ginny!" Weasley replied hotly, his ears going red. Potter's expression tightened at Weasley's exclamation, and Draco felt his head start to pound. One step forward, two steps back.

"That's true," Potter said slowly, sounding as if he were struggling to be rational about things. "Look, Malfoy, I know you and Hermione are, er, figuring things out…" he said in a choked sort of voice, letting Draco know that though he wasn't going to fight their potential relationship he wasn't throwing a party over it either. "But she was obviously uncomfortable. It's not on, pressuring her into that."

First Potter acted like everything was fine, then he did an about-face, ganging up on Draco with his best friend. Draco wanted to explain, but really, was this the time?

"But I—" he began, protests rising to his lips at this injustice, yet knowing it was his own fault they were imaging he had taken advantage of their best friend. Feeling his face tighten with frustration and anger, Draco fought to remain calm. Ginny Weasley seemed to sense this and cut in before things could get particularly heated.

"Just go find her, Malfoy," she ordered calmly, ignoring her brother's ranting. "She'll need to talk to you after all of this." She met his eyes and he saw in them how serious she was. "She knows she's safe with you," she added quietly, startling Draco with her proclamation. Potter and Weasley both shot her sideways looks at these words, but Ginny didn't waver, and Draco nodded his silent promise to her. She gave him a hint of a smile.

"Go find her, mate," Miguel grinned, and Draco realized that he, Phil, and Sylvia, had materialized next to the Gryffindors. "We'll keep the party going for now."

Sylvia's pretty face was cool and reserved, her eyes sparking with unspent emotion. Her gaze when he met her eyes was intense. "Granger won't wait forever, Draco," she said, giving him a steady look. "If you care about her, go tell her. Zabini won't dare come back tonight."

Draco lifted his hands, backing away from the group with a shake of his head. "Alright, alright. I'm going!"

#

He deliberately took the same hallway he and Phil had been in instead of the grand entrance to the ballroom, which would have meant he'd have had to pass Pansy, Cartwright, and Anderson on his way out. He knew he couldn't avoid them forever, but he'd deal with them after the holidays. He was grateful that after tonight they would have two weeks off before returning to the Castle. Maybe by then he'd have concocted an appropriate explanation to satisfy Anderson and Pansy. He really couldn't spare the energy to think much on it at the moment—either Anderson would be satisfied with Draco's explanation tonight and he'd reach out to him again when he returned to the castle, or he wouldn't, and Draco would have to deal with that if and when it happened.

He reached the end of the hallway and hurried up a set of stairs that lead to the house library. If Hermione had stumbled across that room it was a good bet she'd stopped there. Libraries were safe spaces to Hermione Granger. However, if she wasn't in there, there was also the large balcony that opened out over the grounds. He'd have a good view of their property from there, maybe she had gone outside to walk off her anxiety.

Draco headed out onto the balcony first; if Hermione was outside he wanted to know sooner than later. It was a cold night and it didn't sound like she'd dressed for the weather when she'd left the ballroom. He scanned the dark grounds, squinting out at the Hedge Maze. The hedges were all dusted with snow, glittering in the silver moonlight, but he sensed no movement within them. He'd often hidden away in one of the maze's corners when he'd been younger and wanting to avoid an angry Lucius, he felt a similar tug to do so as he looked out at them now. Just then, he caught a glimpse of movement from the terrace below. He leaned out over the railing but only managed to spy a flash of dark hair as the person who was out there moved below the balcony and out of his line of sight. Draco wanted to call out, but the person was already gone, and he hadn't been able to assure himself that it had indeed been Hermione.

He returned to the library and commenced a quick but thorough walkthrough of the many aisles. When he didn't find Hermione tucked away in a corner, clutching some old book like a security blanket, he had to stop for a moment and force himself to stay calm. She probably hadn't gone very far, he told himself. She didn't have great memories of his house—something he'd been hoping to change that night—and he didn't think she'd risk going very deep into the depths of the manor. He thought he heard voices just outside the grand oak doors to the library just then, and hurried across the room to investigate; but when he crossed the wide upper landing he only saw Pansy and a couple of her female friends clustered, gossiping, in a corner of the lower floor below the railing. Draco quickly stepped back into the shadows, least they notice him. A moment later a soft sound down the opposite hallway caught his attention—it had sounded like someone closing a door. He frowned, moving across the carpeted landing with quiet grace as he walked purposefully toward it.

xXx

The figure took a silent step forward, moving out of the hallway and several paces closer to the giant fourposter bed where Hermione had unconsciously shrunk back against the mattress. "It's my room," came the dry reply. "I might ask you the same thing, Granger."

Slowly Hermione's eyes adjusted in the semidarkness, allowing her to make out the pale blond hair and cut-glass cheekbones of Draco Malfoy. Where he had been all this time, she had no idea, and though his tone was a carefully casual drawl, Hermione could see that he looked thoroughly startled to have just found her sprawled across his bed like a cursed princess in a fairytale.

His room? She could feel her eyes rounding in horror at this news. Of all the bedrooms that had lined that seemingly endless hallway… she'd had to stumble into Malfoy's personal bedroom? Which meant that right now she was laying on—

All at once Hermione felt absurdly indecent, though she was still completely dressed, the full skirts of her gown spread across the neatly made bedcovers like a swirl of pastel icing on a cake. Draco had stopped walking only a pace or two from the bed, but his eyes glittered in the darkness. The weight of that stare only served to intensify Hermione's sudden need to get off the bed and back on her feet as soon as possible; she couldn't tell what he was thinking and he hadn't said anything after that one sentence.

Trying to scramble up, apologies falling from her lips and her mind on where she'd dropped her shoes when she'd foolishly decided to seek respite in this supposedly unused room, Hermione found her legs tangled in the voluminous skirts of her dress. Her throat constricted with panic and she swallowed back a lump that might have been mortified tears or a curse or both, as she frantically pulled at her skirts, trying to free her bare feet so she could crawl off the bed… then maybe continue on until she was under it, anything that would get her away from the strange look Draco was giving her.

Her chest felt tight, the corseted bodice of her dress flattening her lungs even as it unfortunately accentuated the now-heaving curves of her small breasts as Hermione floundered awkwardly on the bed, finally managing to free her feet just as Draco seemed to shake out of his stupor and took a last step closer, reaching a hand toward her as a frown creased his features. She sucked in a startled gasp as his lean form filled her vision, and went still.

Not Blaise. Not dangerous. He won't hurt me. Hermione intoned silently, trying to regain control of herself. Draco leaned over her, his fingers curling in on themselves when she flinched, his hand landing on the duvet instead of her arm. She flushed, hoping he hadn't been offended. It wasn't that she thought he meant to take advantage of her exactly, just that this whole situation felt so…so… torrid—and she didn't want to be thought of as the sort of girl who might have orchestrated a situation like—

"Hey, calm down, Granger," Draco's voice cut into her scrambled thoughts, bringing Hermione's wild eyes back to his own. His other hand now pressed into the mattress on her opposite side, hemming her in as he bent down over her. She leaned back slightly, trying to put some distance between their bodies, though she couldn't move more than an inch or two or she'd risk falling onto her back altogether. Draco held himself very still, seeming to be conscious of every movement either of them made, considering the implications of each before allowing himself to do anything.

"I—I'm sorry," she said quickly, forcing out the apology before she became utterly distracted by something else—such as the way Draco had loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, the tendons in his leanly muscled forearms straining slightly as they supported his body weight. "I was only looking for a place to be alone, and all the rooms on this hall looked alike. I didn't know this one was yours." She swallowed hard, trying to make herself stop talking and failing. "I didn't mean to intrude—"

"Hermione," and it was his use of her given name that caused Hermione to swallow back the rest of her words, biting her lip and willing Draco to step back so that she could think about something other than how it would feel to have his lithe form press her down on the bed, the heat of his body seeping into her skin as he— "It's fine. I don't care that you're in here."

"Y-you don't?" she squeaked, both relieved and confused. If she'd found him sprawled across her bed at home unannounced, well, she would have had more than a few things to say about it, starting with a shriek and probably ending with something heavy flying through the air.

xXx

It had taken everything in him for Draco to keep his voice as dry and neutral as it had come out when he'd opened the door to his bedroom, one hand hovering over his wand pocket, prepared to draw at the first sight of trouble, and then found Hermione sprawled tantalizingly across the green brocade bedcovers of his four-poster bed. He had pulled up short in the doorway, half-convinced he'd had too much of his mother's 'special' Christmas punch and was now ensconced in a self-induced fever dream, because what he was looking at right then had to be impossible.

He'd been lost in daydreams of muggle fairytales—gleaned from forbidden glances in a book one of his short-lived nannies had read to him when he'd been small—his imagination pulling up visions of the Sleeping Beauty in the forest, when Hermione heard him in the entrance and pushed up from the bed with a startled cry. She didn't seem to realize it was him at first, if the forced-bravado in her voice was to be believed, and the knife in his chest twisted once more as she blinked at him in the dimly lit room, still looking radiant in the flickering firelight, even as her eyes were wide with anxiety.

He moved toward her, slow but steady, wanting—needing—to comfort her, to explain why he'd left her, even for those few minutes, but his nearness only seemed to make her more upset. She began scrambling to get off his bed, but quickly got tangled in the long skirts of her dress, becoming more distressed the longer it took for her to free her feet. He wanted to reach out to her, pull her into his arms and hold her as he begged for forgiveness. She'd run out of the ballroom because he hadn't been there for her. He tried to tell himself that her friends had been there, yet even so she'd slipped free of them and ended up here.

When he reached for her, she flinched away from his touch, and Draco felt his hands spasm, unsure where to land now that he had to avert touching Hermione's body in any form. He ended up bent awkwardly over her, his palms splayed on the duvet on either side of her hips, their faces suddenly very close. He froze, swallowing hard as he tried not to spook her. His emotions still raged from his altercation with Blaise, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. As much as he wanted to touch her, she was obviously still uneasy with the nearness of anyone of the male persuasion at the moment. When Hermione began to babble apologizes for having entered his room without his express permission though, he was hit with an absurd desire to laugh. As if he would ever be upset at finding her there. Knowing her tendency to talk on and on when she was nervous, Draco quickly cut her off, enjoying the way his easy use of her name seemed to throw Hermione off balance. She stopped talking to blink up at him, and he allowed himself a tiny smirk. He felt more surefooted now that they were talking, much calmer, more in control, when they verbally sparred. Maybe he could still turn this night around?

xXx

Draco smirked, and Hermione wondered if he was picturing the same thing she was. More likely he was thinking of how to turn the situation to his advantage. "Not particularly," he reiterated. "Though I'm far from the only one to notice your absence from the masses of our peers downstairs." He didn't move from his position as he said this and Hermione was visited with a sudden horrifying vision of Harry, or worse, Ron, somehow barging into the room and challenging Malfoy to a duel.

"I—I should probably get back then," she said, shifting nervously on the bed as she tried to work out a way to get up without actually touching him.

Draco raised an eyebrow as Hermione rustled her skirts, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed, yet still several inches from the dark hardwood floor—seriously, his bed was huge, how did he even get into the thing at night without steps?—but all he said was, "So soon?" and Hermione's eyes flew to his face once more. Just what in Merlin's name did he mean by that? For his part, Draco seemed just as surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. Their eyes locked, and for an eternal moment neither of them said anything. The air between them felt charged, a breath away from igniting.

Draco took an abrupt step back, seeming to jerk himself out of whatever moment had fallen over them—just as Hermione pushed herself up off the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor as the rosy skirts of her gown slid off the bed in her wake, swishing about her legs. This movement brought their bodies back within inches of each other once more, and Hermione started, blushing and trying to take a step back. Draco's bed was still only inches behind her, however, and her ankles banged into the solid wooden frame in her haste, pulling a startled intake of breath from Hermione's lips as she threw her arms up to try and catch her balance. In her distraction she missed the way Draco's grey eyes had widened at her sudden nearness, the way his whole body had tensed as she'd popped up in front of him. He reacted immediately now though, hands catching her elbows the second she teetered, pulling her swiftly back toward himself almost without thought.

"Careful," he said automatically, and she thought his voice might have sounded just a shade uneven.

Their bodies were so close now that if either one of them breathed too deeply their chests would brush—though Hermione was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing entirely the second Draco had pulled her toward him, so maybe there wasn't any danger of that. She felt like there might be another sort of danger though—standing there with her hands now pressed against Draco's chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palms—especially if she couldn't pull her eyes away from his. She hoped Draco couldn't feel the way she trembled at his touch, the way the brush of his fingers on her bare skin sent sparks racing through her veins. She wasn't afraid of him, only afraid of what she might let happen if they didn't move away from each other soon. She was visited with a wave of deja vu, remembering the way Draco had looked down at her in the ballroom what felt like hours ago…

Draco found his mouth running away without thought for the plans his brain had for him. Every time he tried to move away she somehow ended up right in front of him again, tormenting him with the closeness of her body. He wanted to touch her so badly that the restraint of his hands sent a tremble through his fingers. He'd had to fight a powerful urge to press her back against his bed just then, they were so close, and she was so beautiful, and they were alone in his room where no one would dare to enter without his consent—

That thought pulled him up short. Consent. Slowly. He had to do this slowly. If he didn't explain properly he might do irreparable damage to their relationship. First he would have to talk with Hermione, and hope that she would understand everything that had happened that night.

It took a herculean effort to raise his body straight and take a step away from the bed and girl sitting on its edge—but just as Draco had forced himself to move back, Hermione suddenly slid off the duvet, her feet hitting the cold floor with a quiet tap, her skirts rustling around her ankles. She was abruptly inches from his body once more, and Draco started, trying to distance himself from her lest he scare her. He'd seen the way she was working to pull herself together just then, and he'd really meant to give her some space, truly he had—but then she also stepped away from him, stumbled against his bed and—well, if he hadn't reached out for her she'd have either fallen back across the bed—something he had been working very hard to avoid just then—or tumbled to the floor, and what sort of man would he be if he let that happen?

Or so he told himself when his fingers curled around her elbows, pulling her swiftly toward himself.

Cursing inwardly, Draco forced himself to look into Hermione's eyes. They were wide and a little anxious, but she didn't look afraid, more… uncertain. He felt a faint tremble run through her body as he held her arms, but she didn't pull away. Her small hands had ended up pressed against his chest and and Draco was sure she must be able to feel his pounding heart. Merlin, he'd never been this unsure with any other girl he'd had in his room before, what was it about this girl? The tension between them fairly crackled and Draco hurried to speak before the moment broke.

"I'm sorry I left you there," he choked out, his voice feeling sandpapery. He always seemed to be apologizing to Hermione. Some days he longed for his old life, the time when he didn't have to care about hurting anyone's feelings, or worry for their mental or physical well-being. As terrible as he'd been back then, it had definitely been a simpler time. Hermione stilled in his arms, but she didn't move away. "Phil dragged me out, I wanted to stay—"

He broke off. This sounded like a pathetic excuse, even if it was true. He cleared his throat, finding it hard to concentrate when Hermione's skin was so warm under his fingertips. They'd rarely touched like this before. It had always been a brief hug, or fight-training, or accidental touches that left them both uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Blaise is gone," he said instead, his voice coming out a bit too loudly as he hurried to get the words out. He could feel Hermione tensing again, and continued quickly, hoping she wouldn't pull away. "I threw him out. His mother too. He managed to buy himself house arrest while waiting for the trial, and the Aurors tethered him to his mother—that's why he was able to drop by tonight. He had on suppressors though, you weren't ever in any danger." He was babbling now and unsure how to make himself stop. He was afraid if he stopped talking Hermione would make some excuse and leave the room, and he needed her to stay. "I'm sorry your evening was ruined," he went on, searching her face, willing her to contradict his words.

"It wasn't all bad," Hermione said softly, and Draco could feel feel her relax a little under his hands. He felt a certain tightness in his chest ease. She didn't need to know all the gory details that had occurred, not yet, it was enough to assure her that she was safe with him. He pressed on, encouraged. Sylvia was right, he had to let Hermione know how he felt. If she didn't feel the same way then he'd just have to deal with it. Draco wasn't used to being friend-zoned, it was usually he that decided to do that—after a one-night stand. There had simply been too many girls he'd wanted to, well, experience, until now. He swallowed back his disgust with himself and his old life. Hermione was different. He needed to let her know that. He was pulled out of his tumbling inner thoughts when he realized Hermione was still talking. "I liked dancing with you. You're not all that bad." She had a faint smile on her face and Draco felt his heart beat faster. She had liked dancing with him. Of course he had assumed she'd been enjoying herself, she hadn't begged off after one dance like he'd originally expected her to do, but still, it was nice to hear her voice the thought aloud.

"Not all that bad?" he retorted, faking offence, though he kept his voice light, teasing her. "I'll have you know my parents got me best dance instructors in the United Kingdom!"

Hermione smirked, glancing up at him through her lashes—Merlin, did girls even know what that sort of look did to a guy?—and then shrugged carelessly, her shoulders moving up and down under his hands. "You were alright."

Draco felt his heart lighten at her teasing words. She didn't hold him accountable after all. She wasn't regretting coming to his house. At least he hoped so. Taking a chance, he threw caution to the wind. In a lightning quick move, he dropped one arm to Hermione's waist, keeping the other at her back to hold her steady, and swooped her down into a dip that pulled a squeak of surprise from her lips.

"What—?" she cried out, clutching onto the front of his dress shirt with both hands.

Draco smirked down into her startled face, grinning confidently into her eyes. "I have all the moves, Granger, and you know it!"

She was blushing furiously by now, and Draco could practically hear her heartbeat fluttering beneath her gown. The rapid rise and fall of her chest drew his attention and he hastily lifted her back to her feet, feeling his own cheeks heat. He needed to keep his eyes in his head, this was not the time to lose his concentration. He cleared his throat, feeling a little embarrassed at what he'd just done.

"Listen, Granger—Hermione—downstairs," Draco said at last, his voice rough in the deafening silence of his bedroom, "I didn't kiss you because Blaise wanted a show, and I didn't think he deserved it at your expense." Hermione's face had gone blank at his words, he could feel her tensing up again and hurried on. "That isn't to say what I did was without fault. I shouldn't have played the game at all, and I'm sorry I pulled you into it." His grey eyes searched her face, taking in her every minute reaction. He lifted a hand to her hair, uncommonly anxious fingers reaching to play with the satin ribbon of her mask. She didn't stop him, in fact she had gone completely still at his words, all traces of amusement wiped clean as she looked up at him, waiting. He felt his throat grow dry under her piercing gaze and had to work to get his next words out. "I didn't want you to feel pressured into doing anything you weren't ready for, or…" He paused, hesitating, unsure if he should say his next words—the ribbon he'd been fiddling with pulled loose, and her mask slipped, fluttering to the floor. She barely seemed to notice. "…didn't want?"

xXx

The sentence ended in a question, Draco's tone leaving it up to Hermione to tell him to stop, that she didn't want him to do anything more. His eyes glittered behind his dragon mask, and she suddenly felt vulnerable with her own mask gone, as if it had been some sort of protective shield between the pair of them, and now she was exposed. Suddenly she couldn't catch her breath; her head spun and her stomach fluttered anxiously, and for a moment Hermione wondered if she was about to faint. All the teasing from a few moments ago had faded into the ether, now the look Draco was giving her was full of questions and desires.

The whole evening had been emotionally charged and she felt exhausted from the strain of it all; yet somehow, she knew if she did fall, Draco would catch her. She could feel the strength in his hands as his fingers tightened fractionally, pulling her nearer, could sense it radiating from his entire body as he looked down at her. Neither one of them had yet said the words aloud that would make everything clear between them, but Draco was most assuredly on the right path…

It was then that his words from earlier in the evening came back to her, echoing inside her head: "If I'm ever going to kiss you, Granger, I'll do the thing properly; and without the benefit of an audience."

The silence of the bedroom was suddenly ringing in her ears, the sounds of their laughing and dancing classmates felt very far away on the floor below, and Hermione had never been more aware of the fact that she was alone with the Lord of the Manor, in his bedchamber no less, and he didn't seem inclined to let her go this time.

Moonlight spilled in from the balcony, chased with a light breeze from where one of the doors hadn't quite latched, and Hermione shivered slightly as the wind caressed her exposed skin, drawing in a soft breath. Draco, his back to the doors, stood gilded in soft silver—a fairy knight come to sweep her away in a swirl of forbidden fantasy. Slowly, he lifted one hand to run a knuckle gently across her cheek, a caress so soft as to almost be a dream. His movements were slow and careful, his eyes steady and watchful, making sure she that she wanted the same thing he did. Hermione felt herself stop breathing, her eyelids fluttering shut and her whole body stilling and focusing on that single touch, her face tilting upward as Draco slowly cupped her cheek against his broad palm, his face lowering toward hers.

xXx

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